


The Witcher and the Frog

by thewightknight



Series: BeWitching Tales [1]
Category: The Witcher, The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Crack, Curses, Fluff, Gen, Transformation, breaking curses, retold fairy tales
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:08:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23655091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewightknight/pseuds/thewightknight
Summary: Jaskier is used to people being angry at him, but a sorcerer's ire has unusual consequences.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: BeWitching Tales [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1740502
Comments: 10
Kudos: 129





	The Witcher and the Frog

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of those silly ideas that popped into and spilled out of my fingers in no time at all, almost writing itself.

Jaskier was rudely woken in the middle of the best dream. It involved a certain Witcher, who happened to be naked, and a bathhouse and a copious amount of oil, and he was just getting to the best part when all of a sudden he wasn’t dreaming anymore.

He blinked, trying to clear his eyes, as his vision had gone all funny. Everything seemed stretched out and larger than usual. He blinked again, and tried to clear his throat, and then jumped in startlement when a loud _croak_ echoed through his skull.

After he landed, he blinked again, trying to understand what had just happened. His leap had taken him up out of his bedroll and several feet away. Blinking again, he tried to shake his head, as it seemed somehow he’d managed to jump completely out of his clothes, except his neck felt funny too. He tried to rub it with a hand, but his arm wasn’t cooperating. Stretching it out, he frowned, and then tried to scream, except it came out as a croak again, which startled him into another jump and this time he nearly landed in the river they’d camped next to.

He tried again, cautiously, looking down as he raised one leg, and his heart leaped into his throat and he groaned (croaked), because what he saw wasn’t his pale skin with the dusting of hair and long, graceful fingers, but a short, stubby green appendage.

Fighting down the panic that was beginning to overwhelm him, he peered into the still water. What he saw didn’t help quell that panic.

A frog’s face looked back at him from the surface of the river.

He’d definitely been hanging around a certain Witcher for too long, because the first thought that sprang to mind was _FUCK._

###

A light sleeper is a dead sleeper. That’s one of the first things a Witcher learned. That’s why, when a frog croaked in his ear, Geralt snapped wide awake in an instant.

He took in his surroundings through slitted eyelids but didn’t see anything out of the ordinary besides the frog that for some reason had wandered away from the riverbank and was now sitting next to his bedroll. Satisfied that nothing was out of the ordinary, he was about to let his eyes close and go back to sleep when something registered. Opening his eyes further, he confirmed what he thought he’d seen—Jaskier’s bedroll was empty.

“What’s that fool doing now?” he muttered as he sat up. He couldn’t see Jaskier anywhere around their campsite, and he didn’t hear him thrashing out in the woods either. “If he’s gone and gotten himself cursed _again_ ….”

At that, the frog croaked again, taking a few hops toward him. Scowling at it, Geralt stood, taking up his sword from where it lay next to him and scanning the ground for footprints. When he didn’t find any, his scowl deepened.

“Where’s he gotten himself too?” he asked as he paced the circumference of their camp.

The frog croaked again, and when Geralt turned to look at it, he found it had been following him. “Hmm.” Taking an experimental step back, he watched as the frog hopped forward. He took a step of his own forward and the frog held its ground, staring up at him, the sack beneath its mouth pulsing.

He stomped, and the frog leaped straight up in the air. When it landed, it gave him a look. A look that he recognized.

“No,” he said. Crouching down, he peered at the frog who looked up at him with big hazel eyes. “Fuck.”

###

There were perks to being a frog, Jaskier supposed. For the first time, he was riding Roach and not walking along behind the horse.

Well, maybe _riding_ wasn’t the right word for it. He was currently perched on one of Geralt’s thighs as Geralt sat on Roach. The perch wasn’t as precarious as he’d have thought. Geralt’s thighs took up a considerable amount of real estate. Roach’s gait was smooth too, at least at the walk, so all in all this was the most comfortable leg of his journeys with the witcher to date.

Or it was until the morning turned towards afternoon, and they emerged from the shadow of the trees. He’d started feeling a bit of discomfort as they traveled, but as soon as the sun hit his skin it got so much worse. He found himself gasping for air, but not being able to take any in. Desperate, he let out a series of mournful croaks and shifted where he sat, trying to get Geralt’s attention.

It took a few minutes, but Geralt figured it out. He had a brain under all that hair, after all. Dismounting, he dribbled some water over Jaskier, then set him aside on a dampened patch of ground under some plants and started casting around in their packs. Grunting in satisfaction, he pulled one of Jaskier’s undershirts out, and then, to Jaskier’s horror, ripped it from the neckline to the waist. He let out an outraged croak, somewhat more subdued than he liked because he was still feeling a bit off from the heat, and Geralt scowled at him.

“What? It’s not like you can wear it right now.” And with that, he continued to rip it into pieces. Jaskier let out another croak, more mournful this time, and Geralt sighed. “If I promise to buy you another one when we get this figured out, will you stop complaining?”

Jaskier thought about it for a moment, let out another small croak, and resigned himself to the fate of his wardrobe.

###

Even when he couldn’t speak, Jaskier still annoyed Geralt.

He directed Roach along a disused forest trail. There were faster routes he could have taken, but they would have exposed Jaskier to more sunlight. The frog bard still rested on his thigh, but now sat on dampened pieces of his shirt, with another draped over him to help keep his skin moist. It seemed to make him happy. At least, the frog had stopped croaking like a dying beast and instead was emitting a low thrum, occasionally bobbing in place where he sat.

A thought occurred to Geralt, and he pulled Roach up to a halt. Staring down at Jaskier, he told the frog, “You’re either composing a song about this or humping my leg. It shows what my life has come to that I’m hoping it’s the latter.”

Jaskier peered up at him from under his damp linen veil. His eyelids flickered and Geralt swore his frog mouth smirked at him.

“I should dump you in a mud puddle and be done with it,” he said as he urged Roach back into a walk.

 _Find Yennefer_ had been his first thought. _Yennefer will know what to do._

But finding Yennefer could be a challenge. She had a tendency to move around, as Geralt did, and he had no clue as to where she currently could be found.

So he was doing the best thing he’d thought of at the time—going to Aretuza.

###

If you’d asked Tissaia de Vries who she least likely expected ever to see approaching the gates of Aretuza, she would have said Geralt of Rivia. And yet, there he was on his giant black horse, with what looked like a bandage around one thigh, riding up the road to the academy.

Curiosity drove her down to greet him. When he dismounted, she realized it wasn’t a bandage, but a bundle of white cloth he’d had on his thigh, and there was something in it. Something that moved.

“Witcher. What brings you to our academy?” she asked by way of greeting.

“I’m looking for Yennefer,” he said, and she felt a frown pulling at the corners of her mouth.

Smoothing her expression, she replied, “Yennefer is not here, and has not been for some time.”

“I know. I was hoping you had some word as to her whereabouts.”

“And why do you seek her?” Tissaia asked. She had some idea. Rumors had reached her ears, about relations between her pupil and the man who stood before her. He didn’t seem the type to seek out an errant lover, though.

“I have a problem I was hoping she could help me with.” At that, whatever he held in his hands in that white cloth let out a loud croak. As Tissaia watched, a bulbous green nose peeked out from between the layers of fabric.

“Is that…?” she trailed off, unable to complete the sentence, so astonished was she by the sight of Geralt of Rivia standing before her with a frog in his hands.

“This, my lady, is Jaskier the Bard, and I seek a way to return him to his human form.”

###

After a time, mages grew to recognize the marks of another’s work. It took Tissaia very little time to determine that the spell, or curse, however you wished to term it, had been cast by Stregobor. She could figure out the why of it. The bard’s songs had undone most of the spleen Stregobor had heaped on Geralt. The how of it and the means to unravel the curse eluded her, though.

She’d ordered her students to create a small terrarium for the bard-turned-frog. They spoiled it horribly, which she allowed. As the weeks passed, Jaskier, for the most part, seemed resigned to his status. The girls giggled over the faces he made when presented with grubs and crickets, but he swallowed them down with little hesitation, and his croaking was pleasant enough, especially when he mimicked the rhythm of the songs the girls loved.

Geralt didn’t stay at the keep the entire time she searched for the answer, for which Tissaia was thankful. His presence was a distraction from their studies for her pupils. But though he left to range the countryside around the academy, he never strayed far, and was never absent more than a few days.

Whenever he returned, he’d first see to his horse, and then his feet would drag him, as if despite himself, to the small room where Jaskier’s terrarium lay. On the days when he didn’t leave the academy he’d spend most of the day in that room, seeing to his weapons or going through exercise after exercise, all the while directing barbs at the frog who croaked in response.

It was this—Geralt’s constant attention to the cursed amphibian, and its unwavering regard whenever Geralt was present—that began to give Tissaia the first clues to the answer.

###

Life as a frog wasn’t all that bad, considering, Jaskier thought as one of the mage students rearranged a few rocks and plants in his new home, then misted him with water and gave him a pat on the head before heading off to her class. He didn’t have to worry about singing for his supper, or dodging the ire of a cuckolded spouse, or camping out in the cold and rain with rocks digging into his back and Geralt sound asleep beside him, oblivious to the weather.

That’s what he kept telling himself, at least, as days stretched into weeks and then, he thought, months. He had a hard time keeping track of how long it had been. At first he tried making marks in the dirt of his terrarium, but it was small enough that his movements erased them.

Geralt hadn’t given up on him, though, or so it seemed. He’d be gone sometimes, but he always came back, and he talked to him. Well, talked at him, but it helped.

Tissaia hadn’t given up either. At least, she would come and stare at him every day, muttering to herself. She’d then leave without addressing him, but he didn’t let that bother him.

He’d settled into his routine, living out each day, making mental notes for the ballads he could compose when ( _if_ , a little voice would whisper to him) the curse was broken. Meals became less repulsive to the part of him that remained human. The warm, moist dirt felt more and more like home.

And then one day, Geralt and Tissaia entered his room together, Tissaia murmuring something to Geralt he couldn’t make out. Geralt scowled at her words, more so than usual, and glared down at Jaskier with his arms crossed over his chest.

 _Oh, no,_ he thought. _They can’t break it._

And then Geralt spoke. “You’re sure. This is the only way to break the curse?”

“The only way I can discover, yes,” Tissaia replied. It seemed she was trying not to smile, but that must be Jaskier’s imagination.

“Hmm,” Geralt growled, then stalked over to the terrarium and knelt before it. He held out a hand, palm up, and hesitantly Jaskier hopped into it. Geralt raised his hand up to his face, and Jaskier didn’t think his scowl could get scowlier but it had. He looked up at Tissaia and said, “If this works or not, not a word of this leaves this room.”

“My lips are sealed,” Tissaia said, and she _was_ smiling. It looked like she was about to break out in peals of laughter, in fact. He didn’t have any time to contemplate this oddity, though, because to his astonishment Geralt leaned in until only a breath separated them. “Fuck,” Geralt said, and then to his astonishment, Geralt bestowed an obviously reluctant kiss on the tip of his nose.

Shocked beyond measure, Jaskier fell off of Geralt’s palm. The room spun as he fell and he hit the ground with a thud. It wasn’t until he tried to right himself that it registered—he was pushing off the floor with a pale-skinned arm with a smattering of hair and graceful fingers.

“It worked!” he cried out, staring at his hand as he turned it back and forth. “It worked!” He laughed, patting himself down with both hands now, reveling in the feel of his skin, stretching out his legs and kicking them, laughing some more. “Hey, I’m naked!” he exclaimed when the realization hit him.

“Indeed you are. I’ll have someone see about finding you something to wear.” Tissaia swept from the room at this, but Jaskier swore he heard her giggle when she reached the hall.

“You did it!” Jaskier told Geralt and without thought he threw himself at the witcher, pulling him in for a hug. Geralt stiffened but didn’t push him off. “Thank you,” Jaskier whispered in his ear, and for the briefest of instants Geralt’s arms rose, holding him for a heartbeat before letting go.

###

It was several years later that Geralt finally happened to meet up with Yennefer. Her words of greeting were “So, I heard something about a frog?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you want to say hi, [check out my profile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewightknight/profile) for where I’m currently hanging out on this here internet thing. If you liked this, please share! Kudos are love and comments are always appreciated.


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